Summer Holidays
by HereLiesAce
Summary: Kidlock! Sherlock meets John when he's 12 years old, bored during the summer holidays. Just a short one-shot of their introduction for a fan competition.


Summer holidays – to Sherlock, this meant the freedom to be bored. Though he enjoyed the lack of responsibility assigned to himself (no deadlines, due dates, or ridiculous projects to complete) and the fact that he no longer had to tolerate all of the stupid children in his school, it also meant that he had nothing to do. Each day brought the same old tedium and it made Sherlock want to tear his hair out in frustration.

The gentle buzz of summer bugs filled the air, and uncropped blades of grass tickled Sherlock's legs and cheeks. He was sprawled out on the grass of the park, the heavy weight of Redbeard's head against his stomach. When he peeked open his eyes, squinting against the bright sunlight, he found his vision partially obscured by the auburn curls of his fringe. Sighing, he pushed them back, then propped himself up on his elbows. Redbeard shifted off him and clambered to his feet to give Sherlock an encouraging lick.

"Thanks, Redbeard." Sherlock muttered, rubbing the Irish Setter behind his ears. "We need to find something to do, don't we? Do you want to play fetch again?" he suggested, picking up the tennis ball and waving it in front of Redbeard's face. Redbeard perked up at the suggestion and backed up from Sherlock, tail wagging enthusiastically. That, at least, drew a laugh from Sherlock, and he pushed himself up to standing. "You ready?" he asked, holding the ball at the end of Redbeard's nose. "Go fetch!" Sherlock yelled, then tossed the tennis ball across the field.

Redbeard took off at a sprint after the ball, and Sherlock, spurred on by his dog's energy, ran after him. The grass whipped at his ankles and he nearly tripped over his own feet as he caught up to Redbeard, who by now had retrieved the ball and was trotting back towards Sherlock with it in his mouth. Breathless, Sherlock came to a stop in front of Redbeard and grinned at him. "Good boy! What a clever boy you are, Redbeard!" Sherlock praised him as he dropped the ball at his feet. He picked up the ball again. "Ready for another go? Three... two... one... go fetch!" he threw the ball again, watching open-mouthed as it arced high through the air. He hadn't meant to throw it that hard. Redbeard had already taken off after it, and Sherlock narrowed his eyes as he followed its trajectory. He winced when he realised what was going to happen – it would land right in the middle of a family picnic then bounce and land in the park pond.

Sherlock pulled a worried face, then set off running after Redbeard, calling his name. A tennis ball bouncing by might disrupt a picnic, but an overly enthusiastic dog set on fetching it would ruin it. "REDBEARD!" Sherlock yelled, feet pounding on the hard earth as he chased after his dog. But he was too late. He watched a few feet away, helpless as Redbeard tore through the picnic, trampling through cakes and crisps and sausage rolls, bread rolls and sandwiches clutched to the chests of respective picnickers with gasps and cries. Drinks were spilled and the blanket was rumpled, but Redbeard still hadn't caught the tennis ball and Sherlock had no choice but to carry on after him.

"Sorry!" Sherlock apologised as he ran after Redbeard, leaping over the ruined remains of the picnic after his dog who was – as predicted – heading straight for the pond. "Redbeard, NO!" Sherlock yelled, as Redbeard leapt without hesitation into the water. He stopped short at the edge of the pond, soaked by the splash of the water, and he groaned as Redbeard paddled towards the floating tennis ball, completely oblivious to the mess he'd caused.

"Oh, Redbeard..." Sherlock frowned as Redbeard splashed his way back, startling a mallard into the air. "You silly, SILLY dog." He chastised him, taking the ball from the sopping wet dog. "Mum's going to be so mad..." Sherlock murmured. Redbeard merely wagged his tail, panting a little from his exertion. He lay down at Sherlock's feet, looking up at him patiently. Sighing, Sherlock joined Redbeard on the ground by the pond, wrapping his arms around his knees. "We should wait for you to dry off before we go home. Shouldn't take long in this heat." He said eventually.

"Bet your dog's a lot cooler now, huh?" Came a voice from Sherlock's left. He looked up quickly, scowling. Standing above him was a boy – about his age, maybe a little bit older – with brownish blond hair, deep-set blue eyes, and smiling cheeks. Sherlock cast his eyes over him, then nodded once. "Most likely." He agreed. Who was this boy?

As though reading his mind, the guy offered Sherlock his hand. "I'm John Watson. And er—who are you, besides the guy who just trashed my aunt's picnic?" Sherlock swallowed, then took John's hand. Instead of shaking it, he used it to pull himself upright. "Sherlock Holmes. And I think you'll find it was my dog that trashed your aunt's picnic." He corrected him. John looked momentarily surprised, then broke out into an amused grin, broad and genuine.

"Hey, woah, I'm not mad or anything. I mean, she's pretty upset. But I actually came over to say thanks. That was the best thing I've seen all summer!" John laughed. Sherlock stared at John in disbelief. The best thing he'd seen all summer? "But... that was your lunch." He said slowly, confused. He really wasn't mad...? John nodded, positively beaming at him. "Yeah, but you should've seen the look on her face! Oh, it was brilliant."

Sherlock continued to stare. John stood patiently by, clearly expecting a response. When he didn't receive one after a few seconds, he cleared his throat. "So, er, what's your dog's name? He's gorgeous." John crouched down to pet him. It took Sherlock a moment longer to respond. "Redbeard. His name is Redbeard." He managed. John nodded. "Does he do any tricks?" he asked. Sherlock nodded, now coming back to himself. "Yep! I taught him myself. Redbeard, say hello." Sherlock instructed him. In response, Redbeard gave a bark and licked John's hand. "Now hold your hand out for him." Sherlock instructed John, who did so quickly. "Shake his paw, Redbeard." He said next, and the Irish Setter obediently placed his paw on John's hand to shake. Proud, Sherlock knelt down too and gave Redbeard a lot of fuss. "Good boy! Oh you're such a clever boy, Redbeard!" he praised him, and John too, joined in the fuss.

"You've got a proper clever dog." John said, clearly impressed. "How long did it take you to teach him that?" he asked. Sherlock, who was being licked half to death by Redbeard, struggled to maintain his dignity whilst replying. "Couple of weeks to do it with treats, about a month without." He said. "It was all I did last summer. It was a very boring time." John looked sympathetic. "Yeah, I get what you mean. I'm pretty bored, too."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow curiously. Could John really be as bored as he was? "Are you?" he asked. John nodded, tucking one leg up to his chest. "Yeah, a bit. Dunno, just... there's never anything happening over summer, is there? And all my mates go away on holiday, and I'm stuck here." He complained. Sherlock nodded knowingly. "Ah, yes. Lack of mates." He agreed, clicking the 't' in 'mates'. "Very boring."

John looked uncertain for a moment, clearly reading into something in Sherlock's expression. "You do... have mates, don't you?" he asked. Sherlock scoffed and nodded. "Of course. Obviously." He replied, stroking Redbeard's head. John watched this, then shook his head. "God, and I thought your dog was silly! Your mate can't be a /dog/, Sherlock. That's not how stuff works. Look, I'll be your mate." He offered. Sherlock looked equal parts surprised and suspicious. "...Really?" he asked. "Yeah, absolutely!" John grinned. "Of course I'll be your mate." Sherlock stared, then a slow, wide grin spread on his features. He had a feeling his summer was going to get a lot more interesting now.


End file.
